Date: Mon, 13 Sep 2010 15:53:27 +0200
From: Brant Author
Subject: Brant 01: A Lesson
Brant looked up at the faded, peeling sign: `Madame Siobhan' was written in
weathered lettering that looked more like something out of the circus.
Brant figured that the old crone must have been one of the stupid acts in
one circus or another, back when those dumb freak shows were actually
popular. For a moment, Brant felt more than a little stupid stood outside
this washed-up fortune teller's shop. He'd always heard rumors that the old
lady was some kind of witch, and since the age of twelve or so he'd known
better than to believe such superstitious nonsense.
Right now, however, he was a desperate young man, and extreme measures were
required.
Take a quick look to make sure nobody saw him -- if this got around
campus, he would be a laughing stock of his frat brothers -- Brant walked
up to the door and pushed it open.
Above his head, a constellation of tiny bells sang in ethereal tones as the
door brushed them. The shop was dim, with only weak, milky light
penetrating the dusty, dirty windows. The smell was like a cross between a
hospital and an old greenhouse: a strange mixture of sharp chemicals and
rich, musty herbs. The shop itself was tiny, with shelves piled high with
what looked to be a load of old junk, most of it caked in dust.
"Hello?" Brant's voice sounded more nervous than he was comfortable with,
so he cleared his throat and continued, suppressing his nerves and sounding
more like the confident star quarterback he was. "Is anyone around?" From
the back area came a hacking cough.
"Come on through." The voice belonged to a woman; she was clearly old, but
the voice itself was surprisingly clear. "Mind the step and don't bang your
head or knock anything over with those elbows. These old buildings weren't
designed for giants like you." The voice sounded fairly far away, but it
never occurred to Brant to think about how this woman knew Brant was almost
two inches taller than the doorway, and as wide.
Brant carefully made his way down a short, dark corridor, having to almost
walk sideways for all the crap that lined either wall. At the end, he
emerged into the largest space he'd encountered yet. It was draped on the
walls with mutely colored, delicate fabrics of all shades, and an unfelt
draft made them constantly gently billow and move, unnerving the
eye. Standard lamps of varying heights, styles and colors were dotted
around the room, each with a bulb that gave off so little light that the
combined light was almost as dim as the front of the shop. A huge, red
velvet day-bed filled one side of the room, and upon it lounged an old
woman of maybe sixty of seventy, swathed in fabrics similar to those
draping the walls. On the other side of the room was a waist-height cabinet
of some dark wood and in the center of the room was a large coffee
table. Next to the day-bed stood a tall hookah, made of red glass with a
silver bowl. An intricately woven cord connected to a slender, carved
silver hookah pipe that was delicately held by long, ring-encrusted
fingers.
"Take a seat, young man." Brant stood, unsure where he was meant to sit as
there was no other seats, until Madame Siobhan collected up a little of her
fabric, making room on the day-bed. Reluctantly, Brant sat next to
her. Instead of smoke and old lady, Siobhan however smelt musky and
fragrant, which somehow unsettled Brant even more. "I don't think you're
here for your fortune, and you definitely aren't interested in buying any
of my little trinkets, so what can I do for you?"
Brant sat a moment, not knowing how to put it into words. He'd only ever
planned as far as coming to the shop and getting Siobhan to help him, but
hadn't figured out how. Taking a deep breath, feeling the oddly smooth
smoke fill his lungs, his head cleared a little.
"There's this girl at college, her name is Penny. I really, really like
her."
"Ah, but the feelings are not returned?"
"No, it's not that. We're dating; we've been dating for over a month
now. The thing is I haven't even gotten to second base with her yet. Her
dad's this ultra-strict big-shot army general or whatever, so she's all
about taking it slow and waiting, which I can respect, but after a month I
should at least have felt her tits." Brant stopped himself, amazed that
he'd just been so frank. Madame Siobhan merely removed the hookah pipe from
between her thin lips and arched an eyebrow at Brant. "Are you smoking pot,
because I usually don't just come out with shit like that?"
"Firstly, young man, I never smoke pot," Siobhan almost spat the last word,
leaving Brant in no doubt that he wasn't going to test positive for pot if
he was ever spot-tested. "Secondly, as much as I prefer people to be honest
with me, I'm not sure what it is you're actually asking of me." The way the
old lady talked in such a fake-mystical, roundabout way was pissing Brant
off, but he kept a lid on his exasperation.
"I've heard that you can sometimes give people things that can... help
things along. In my case, I really like Penny, and I want to take it
further, but I am dying here. I can't wait half my life for her. But she's
the absolute hottest girl on campus, and I'm going crazy. I have to jack
off three or four times a day to keep myself from forcing things along
myself." Brant was astonished at what he was saying, but he didn't feel
high. Siobhan just had a way of getting him to open up, he supposed.
"If Penny isn't ready for a more physical relationship, then the only thing
I can give you is advice: patience."
"Fuck that shit!" Siobhan's eyes remained calm and steady as Brant's temper
simmered over. "I'm the star quarterback, and the most popular guy in
college. I should be able to get any girl I want -- I have had any girl
I've wanted - and right now I'm sitting at home every night jerking off
because Penny won't put out. I deserve this, and if you can help me, I want
you to. I need to get laid!" Brant stopped himself, ready to get thrown
out. Siobhan simply sat there, continuing to smoke and stare at him. He was
just about to get up when Siobhan shifted, and stood up herself. For such
an old lady she stood straight, and moved with far more grace than he
expected. Placing the hookah pipe delicately onto its bracket, she turned
and looked straight at Brant.
"Brant, your arrogance and pride is shocking in someone so young. Penny
isn't a possession and her wishes should be respected." Siobhan stood for a
minute, obviously registering the response her words were getting from
Brant. At last, she seemed to make a decision, and walked over to the
wooden cabinet. "But, your request was at least honest and sincere. You are
a handsome young man, and you most certainly shouldn't go without." Taking
a small stone bowl from on top of the cabinet, she opened the heavy wooden
doors of the cabinet and started rooting around.
"So, you'll help me? Alright!" Brant was so happy that for a moment he
almost forgot that she was probably just a crazy woman about to give him a
bottle of `magical water' or some other shit and rip him off twenty
dollars. "So, how will this work? Do I need to put it in her food, or on
her pillow?"
Siobhan turned, with her eyes dark and set upon Brant. A small smile
touched the corners of her mouth.
"Oh, you first must understand one thing. I can't make anyone want to have
sex with you if they don't truly want to. I can't make anyone do anything
they don't truly want to. No, we need to change you a little bit."
"`Change' me?" Brant cocked his head and glared at Siobhan, his eyes full
of suspicion. "How?" Siobhan walked over to the hookah, and began filling
the silver bowl with the contents of the stone mortar.
"Oh, don't worry. I can't turn you into a frog or make you do anything you
don't want to do. I just want to make you more receptive to what other
people want. It seems to me that right now, your own pride and arrogance
are preventing you from truly seeing the world around you. And once you do
that, then you'll be getting `laid' all you want. Here take five deep
breaths of this," Siobhan instructed, handing him the long, slender silver
hookah pipe. "Don't look at me like that. I assure you there is not a
single illegal or harmful thing in this."
`You'll be getting laid all you want.'
With these words still ringing in his ears, Brant took the pipe. A fine
silver smoke curled from its tip as he stared at it for a moment. Then, he
inhaled deeply on the small mouthpiece. Sweet smoke billowed within him,
and his blood seemed to rush quicker through his veins for a
second. Siobhan excused herself to go wash the mortar. With each deep
inhalation, the smoke seemed to change flavor: now flowery; now woody; now
peppery. As Brant continued taking large gulps of the smoke, Siobhan's
words in his ears, it almost seemed to sour, but not in an unpleasant way,
almost like the smell of a locker-room after a heavy practice, or his room
when he'd not tidied up in a while.
"I suggest you put the pipe down now. That's more than enough." Siobhan was
stood next to the cabinet, the rough stone bowl now once more atop
it. "That must be at least eight or nine, the way you're gulping them
down. You're meant to savor it."
"Well, yeah, but it's all ok, right? Five or eight, it's all the same. I
mean, what am I going to do, grow an extra head?" Siobhan smiled
enigmatically at Brant's scoffing.
"Well, you obviously want it bad enough. A little more should simply see to
it you get all you could ever want, Brant." Brant was getting bored of all
this riddle-talk and could tell that she'd been trying to take the wind out
of his sails with all her talk about `arrogance' and `pride,' and that this
was quite literally smoke and mirrors to try and make him realize that the
point of this had simply been a good talking to.
"So, what do you want for this little therapy session, or whatever it was?
I get it; if I tone down the pressure on Penny, then maybe she'll be more
receptive to my advances. `Treat them mean, keep them keen.' Message
understood. The smoking was a weird touch, though. Anyway, what do I owe
you?"
"My dear boy, I could take your money, and help you convince yourself that
you've been ripped off by some old circus has-been." Siobhan's eyes
narrowed and fingers of ice entered her clear voice. "But I won't take your
money. Your Bel Air trust fund interests me not a bit. I only want one
thing from you, and that's your silence. I'm almost embarrassed by your
coming here as you so clearly are. I've done my best to help you, and you
have given me so far nothing but disrespect and disdain. So the only thing
of any value you can offer me is your silence. If you breathe a word of
your visit here to anyone, I shall be most sorely disappointed. I'd like
you to leave now please."
Not sure quite how to handle this turn of events, Brant merely gave a
non-committal huff as he exited the room, squeezed his way down the thin
corridor and let himself out of the shop. The sky was clouded over and
looking at his watch, he couldn't believe his eyes as he realized he'd been
in the shop for almost three hours.
At that moment, the heavens opened and Brant ran for the bus stop two
blocks away. He didn't have chance to wonder where three hours had gone, or
how Siobhan knew not only his name, but about his trust fund. He was more
concerned about the rain ruining his new jacket.
Behind him, long, ring-encrusted fingers turned the shop sign from `Open'
to `Closed.'